


Wanted Apostate

by geekyjez



Series: Romance Meme [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drunk kiss, Drunkenness, F/M, Kissing, anders's manifesto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders's evening is disrupted when a very drunk Mariah Hawke stops by for a visit.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>A Romance Meme prompt fill for A Drunk Kiss, written for Anders Positive Week. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanted Apostate

Ink-stained fingers guided the quill across the page, the clinic silent save for the familiar scratching of each letter being formed. Anders paused for a moment, re-reading his work, thoughtlessly chewing on his lip.

 

> _For those who say that magic is a curse, I argue that it is a creation of the Maker Himself – for He has made all things and His children are many, from the spirits of the Fade to men of living flesh. There are some who claim that Threnodies 5:8 proves that magic is not of our divine creator but is borne of the false gods who dwelled within the dreams of men- “Those who had been cast down, the demons who would be gods, began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth. And the men of Tevinter heard and raised altars to the pretender gods once more, and in return were given, in hushed whispers, the secrets of darkest magic.” Nowhere in this does it say that the false Old Gods are the creators of magic. In truth, the answer lies within the lines above. The Maker says “I gave you power to shape heaven itself.” He is the source of all such power. One cannot see it as flawed or inherently evil unless we call into question the very nature of the hand that crafted it-_

He crossed out the paragraph. It would need reworking. He knew there was a stronger argument to be found there, if he only structured it properly. He pressed the base of his palm to his brow, letting out a slow sigh. His eyes were beginning to ache. He should be sleeping but Justice was restless tonight, lingering like a persistent hum in his head. It’s why he set to work on his manifesto, despite the late hour. It usually calmed the spirit somewhat if they focused on their end goal. These words would be important, eventually. He would need his motivations to be understood if his actions were to stand for anything.

He heard an odd thump against his door, frowning as he rose from his chair. It wasn’t quite a knock – more like something bumping into the wood. The lantern he used to indicate clinic hours had long since been extinguished, though it was not unheard of for him to get a late-night visit. Still, he could not help but assume the worst, gripping his staff cautiously as he approached. “Who’s there?”

“Mmmm good,” he heard a familiar voice slurring on the other side of the door, “you’re still up.”

Relief and confusion both tugged at his brow as he propped his weapon against the wall, loosening the bolt on the door. It was insufficient to say that Mariah was leaning against the doorframe – the woman looked as if she were about to topple off of her feet if she let go of the wall, propped up as she greeted him with a dopey smile. “Hawke, what are you doing here?”

“ _Somebody_ forgot to meet me at the Hanged Man,” she chided playfully, arching her brow as she swayed on her feet. She smirked, leaning closer to him as she took an unsteady step closer, poking him in the chest with her finger. “Bad mage.”

“I said I _might_ be there,” Anders explained. “I got tied up with work. Besides, it looks like you are more than capable of getting drunk without me.”

She giggled, throwing her arms around his shoulders as he stiffened in surprise. “Isabela and copious amounts of rum kept me company,” she said, nuzzling against his cheek, her fingers toying with his hair. She was close, far too close, closer than she ever normally would be and Anders was painfully aware of it. She was leaning on him, holding herself up with the press of her body against his own. “I still missed you, though,” she murmured softly, her breath hot against his throat as she rested her head against the crook of his neck.

“Hawke-”

“Mmmm, these are so soft,” she purred, snuggling her cheek against the feathers on his coat. “You’re like a giant pillow. My big, sexy apostate pillow.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” She merely hummed in response. He wrapped an arm around her waist, shrugging her head off of his shoulder. “Come on,” he coaxed her, guiding her to one of the cots.

“You trying to take me to bed?” she teased. “How forward of you.”

He scoffed. “Hardly. You look like you’re seconds away from tipping over.” He slipped the daggers out of the harness on her back, tossing them aside before lowering her to the cot. She collapsed against it gracelessly, hooking her fingers along one of the rings that fastened his robes. She tugged and he relented, sitting next to her and she pressed her face into the feathers once more. “Please tell me you didn’t wander down into Darktown drunk and alone.”

“How else was I going to come see you?” she asked, turning her head just enough to peek at him with one eye.

“Don’t be cute about this,” he said firmly. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

She grinned, humming. “Hmmm you think I’m cute.”

“Hawke, I’m serious.”

She lifted her head, her fingers still toying with the ring that sat across his chest. “I want to see more of you, Anders,” she said softly. “You’re always cooped up down here.”

“You see me at least one a week…”

“I want to see you when I’m not bleeding profusely and you’re not covered in spider goop.”

“Ichor.”

“Whatever.” She leaned closer, pulling on his robes. “I like you, Anders.”

“I like you too, Hawke, but-”

“Then kiss me.”

Anders stared back at her as her hand slipped behind his neck. “What?”

“Kiss me.” It was a command she did not give him the option to disobey, pulling herself up against him until her mouth met his. Her lips were soft and wet, stirring a moan from his throat that he could not suppress. He’d spent the past three years imagining how she would feel against him. But he could not ignore the distinctive sweetness of rum, Justice buzzing like a hollow ache in his head. _This is wrong. She is drunk. Out of her senses_.

She was gasping as he pushed away, shaking his head. “This is a bad idea.”

“Trust me, Anders,” she murmured. “I’ve had a lot of bad ideas. This is by far the _best_ bad idea I’ve come up with.” She kissed him again, gripping the front of his robes in her fists, half-stretched across his lap as she leaned into the embrace. Her tongue slipped between his lips, pressed into his mouth and he kissed her in equal measure despite the spirit’s protestations. Her fingers fumbled with his robe’s buckles and he caught her wrists. That was too much. _This_ was too much.

“Hawke.” His tone was firm as he broke away from her again and she lowered her head to his shoulder, letting out a low grumbling whine. He ran his fingers over her hair, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head. “You need to sleep this off. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“No,” she groaned, flopping back onto the cot, her knees awkwardly bent to keep from kicking him as she stretched out. He took the hint and stood as she threw one of her arms over her eyes.

“Should I take that to mean you’re sleeping here?”

“Are you going to kick me out?” she asked, arching her brow as she lifted her arm to peer at him.

He shook his head, unable to resist the urge to smile. “Get some rest, Mariah.” She appeared to need no further encouragement, rolling over onto her side. Anders watched her for a moment before snuffing the remaining candles, quietly slipping behind the thin partition that separated his bed from the rest of the clinic. After shedding his robes and boots, he lay on his back, staring up at the familiar cracked ceiling, speckled in the grime of Darktown. He could hear her breathing, murmuring occasionally as she changed positions. He ached for her despite himself, the thought of her nearness plaguing him. He could still feel the rough warmth of her kiss on his lips, the taste of her still lingering on his tongue.

_Your obsession with her is unwarranted. She will only distract you from your purpose._

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as his brow furrowed. There was no use in telling Justice to shut up – the spirit could already sense his irritation and it only strengthened his protestations. Anders rolled over, trying to block him out as he struggled to get some sleep.

* * *

 

Everything hurt.

She couldn’t think of anything beyond that. Nothing existed outside of the ever-present ache. Her head was throbbing and her whole body was stiff, protesting with each small movement. What in the Void had she been sleeping on? Rocks? It certainly wasn’t the overstuffed bed she kept in her home in Hightown. She opened her eyes slowly, squinting. There wasn’t any daylight, merely a few candles. She blinked away the blur of sleep, taking in her surroundings. _Anders’s clinic. Why am I in Anders’s clinic?_ She glanced down, running a hand over her chest and stomach. She didn’t think she was injured, despite the fact that her head felt like she’d gone a few rounds with an ogre. Now that she was more awake, she could recognize the hangover for what it was, even if she couldn’t exactly remember getting drunk. She spotted the mage shuffling around by his desk. She hadn’t ever seen him out of his robes before. He was dressed in a simple pair of breeches and a linen shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was down – another oddity, the ends skimming the line of his jaw, his cheeks a few days past his last shave. She couldn’t help but bite her lip as his eyes met hers, a look of warm concern on his face as he picked up a small kettle he had sitting on the nearby table. He poured its contents into a cup, walking over to her as she slowly sat up.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” he murmured softly, handing her the cup. “Here, drink this.”

Her stomach felt sour but she obeyed, bringing it to her lips. The tea didn’t win any points for flavor, but it went down easily enough. He sat beside her on the cot, his hands moving to her temples without request. Soon she was melting against the cooling tingle of magic pressing into her head, his fingertips drawing away the ache. She let out an appreciative moan, smiling. “Not sure how I got here, but it’s incredibly convenient to have instant hangover relief. Much better than having to drag myself down here from Hightown feeling half-dead.”

He paused a moment, studying her features. “You don’t remember last night?”

She took another sip of the tea. “I remember getting about halfway through a bottle of rum with Isabela. After that, it’s all a bit fuzzy.” She laughed. “Must have been some night if someone decided to dump me in here. Tell me, was I bleeding?”

There was something strange about his smile as he shook his head. “No. Just drunk and eager to take a late night stroll through Darktown.” He lowered his hands from her temples and she grabbed one of them by the wrist.

“I could use a little bit of that for my stomach, if you would be so kind,” she said with a grin. He nodded and she shifted, allowing him to flatten his palm against her belly. Soon, the roiling in her gut lessened. “Much better,” she said with a sigh. “I feel practically human.” She leaned forward, surprising him with a chaste peck on the bridge of his nose. “So helpful. I’m glad I keep you around.”

The corner of his lips rose and he stood. “You should head home, assuming you feel up to it. Your mother is probably worried.”

Hawke stretched, letting out a sigh. “I could always just tell her I spent the night with my roguish apostate. It’s a family tradition, after all.” She wiggled her eyebrows, biting at her lip. She could have sworn she saw Anders blush and the thought put a spring in her step as she collected her discarded weapons, slipping them back into their strapping as she rose to her feet. “I’m fairly certain I saw a note on my desk from the Seneschal, summoning me to his office. Care to escort me later, after I’ve had a chance to wash up and eat something?”

Anders hesitated, his gaze drifting into the middle distance. She suspected Justice had a few choice words on the subject by the look on his face. Even so, he nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

“You’re welcome to join me if you like,” she offered. “For breakfast, not the bath. Though I suppose I could be convinced.”

“I’ll pass,” he said hesitantly.

She laughed, moving forward to kiss him on the cheek. He looked surprised as she pulled away and she flashed him a bright grin. “See you in a couple hours, then.”

“Right,” he murmured, watching her as she turned to leave. “See you then.”

She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she took to the filthy alleyways of Darktown, running her tongue over her lips, enjoying the slight burn from his stubble that lingered there. She didn’t know quite what it was with Amell women falling for apostates, but she had certainly inherited the trait.


End file.
